


Missing the Mark

by Subject_0mega



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-09-26 05:45:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9869891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Subject_0mega/pseuds/Subject_0mega
Summary: Someone had to teach Gwyndolin how to use a bow, but what if he imparted other ideals?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Ahhh! Man, I haven't been keeping up with my work! Anyway, have a warm-up! This was really fun to write, but now I have to get back to my other stuff!

        The god of the Darkmoon pushed back a lock of his silvery hair, not wanting to look as defeated as he felt. The giant’s soft, rumbling laughter as the arrow wobbled and fell to the floor before even being loosed stung his ego. How insolent the creature was, to mock the Dark Sun, Gwyndolin!  
        “Hawkeye Gough!” The god, ever so small in comparison to the impious archer, couldn’t help but stomp part of the mass of snakes that held him aloft. “Thou would appear to be much more interested in ridiculing mineself than thou are of accomplishing the task father Gwyn allotted to thee.”  
        “And thou would appear to be much more interested in not heeding my advice,” Gough remarked. Plucking the arrow up with a patient hand before handing it back to Gwyndolin. “A bow requires much more strength than it would appear, you’re not weak, stop acting like you are.”  
        “Pray tell, what dost thou think I must do?” The Darkmoon god tensed his shoulders as he drew the bow back in a sharp, quick movement. The giant sighed as he observed Gwyndolin’s hands shaking from the effort of pulling it back too far, too hard, and too fast. Gough gently took hold of his pupil’s arms, pulling them inward and down to release some of the tension. “Unhand me! What good doth an arrow be if not drawn back to its fullest potential?”  
        “What good is an arrow if the bow is broken?” Gough replied. “Strength is not always physical, thou should know that better than any other.”  
        “And what dost thou mean by that?” Gwyndolin snapped. “If weakness is what thou art implying about mineself, you will find thyself sorely mistaken.”  
        Quickly putting the bow up again, pulling it as hard as possible, he let the arrow fly. Missing the mark altogether, the arrow lodged itself in one of the pillars in the large hall. Its sudden arrival sending dust down to the polished, mirror-like floors of Anor Londo. With a huff, Gwyndolin looked down, avoiding Gough’s gaze.  
        “Art thou ready to listen?” the giant asked gently, knowing full well the answer.  
        “Yes,” replied the god of the Darkmoon, slightly indignant.  
        “Hold the bow straight up, and if you treat it without care, the arrow will slide away, just as before.”  
        Handing him another arrow, Gough gently guided Gwyndolin’s hands into the right position. Straightening his posture, the royal archer in training looked at the giant expectantly.  
        “Good,” Gough commented. “Now, relax, keep both of thine eyes open…”  
        Gwyndolin drew the bow back, following the giant knight’s directions.  
        “Take a deep breath,” the archer whispered to him. “And let go.”  
        The Dark Sun listened, and the arrow flew straight. He felt a pang of excitement when the arrow hit the target, which quickly turned to disappointment when he realized it didn’t hit the center like he had hoped.  
        “Very good,” Gough praised, looking proudly at the mark and then at his pupil.  
        “But it missed,” Gwyndolin sighed.  
        “Thou’rt missing the point, perhaps more so than before,” the giant stated. “Thou’rt not going to accomplish it perfectly the first time, that is why we train.”  
        Gwyndolin looked at the, in his mind, misplaced arrow, and then back up at Gough. The giant’s words offered him some comfort, but what would his father think of him? The “shadow of father Gwyn” line of the knight’s covenant never fell so heavy on him.  
        “Dost thou think I can ever be like our lord Gwyn?”  
        “Thou hast a strange way of speaking of thine own father,” the giant archer remarked. “But, if thou’st between us a secret keep, thine wish shouldn’t be based in imitation.”  
        “How could thee, a loyal knight of Father, say such?”  
        “What is your name?”  
        “Dark Sun Gwyndolin,” the god answered, almost dumbfounded.  
        “Exactly, Gwyndolin, it seems thou’st been forgetting to add the Dolin after Gwyn when talking about thyself and thine own future.”  
        “But I must follow my lord’s wishes! What heir would I be if not?”  
        “Follow thine father’s wishes if thee would like, but take a moment of thought,” the giant stated, “for Gwyndolin. Would it truly please thy heart to lose thyself, even if thou couldst fulfill his wishes?”  
        Gwyndolin looked back down the hall at the arrow. Such words the god hadn’t heard from his kind ever before, come to think of it, he’d never heard such talk in his life. He needed to be like his father, to be strong, and he valued that over even his own true wishes. But there was something so empty feeling about that, but he didn’t know if he could shake it.  
        “Thou’st given me much to think on,” Gwyndolin said, looking up at the giant. “For that, I must thank thee.”  
        “Hast thou reached a conclusion?”  
        Gwyndolin thought for a moment. Had he?  
        “No matter, an answer need not come immediately,” Gough stated. “Dost thou wish to continue with thine training?”  
Gwyndolin nodded, and raised his bow once more.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, as always comments, feedback, and kudos are greatly appreciated!


End file.
